


The ghost (Finduilas)

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: First Age, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-14
Updated: 2015-04-14
Packaged: 2018-03-22 22:12:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3745241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A layer of grass and hoar is covering the hill called Haudh-en-Elleth, but the soul buried in this hill is alive so far. Fleshless and boneless, she lives in the memory of the past and if you listen you may hear this sorrowful voice from the deep of the years of yore</p>
            </blockquote>





	The ghost (Finduilas)

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

Now autumn is coming - but not for Finduilas.

From the chilly winds I am covered by withered grass.

And a harpstring quivers and flutes of Sindar sing.

Long ago, impossibly long this battle has been!

I have loved a mortal whose fate was a sign of curse.

But my lips were bravely whispering: "Forever I'm yours!"

We were laughing when our paths met in forests wild,

I was happy- but when could a maiden survive in a fight?

To the kingdom unmarred I wanted to follow him,

But a guard-like shaft pinned me up to the hill.

Holds me firmly by spearing my chest, like a binding chain.

Never will it allow me to rise up and leave my grave.

I must feed with my heart' s all womanly caress and force

Not the sons of a king, but the roots of silvery herbs.

And the corn will be whispering bent under a windy blast,

Those tales which somebody in bore has thought up of us.

I am tired of lying - icy ground is squeezing my breast.

Minstrel, sing a song of summer, which came from the West!

Let your song destroy the spells, interwoven over me,

So that though in a dream I can be unchained and free!


End file.
